


aethra

by kittenscully



Series: fictober 2020 [23]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: (sort of), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Episode: s11e03 Plus One, Romance, Season/Series 11, The Unremarkable House (X-Files)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully
Summary: The way that he leans into her touch tugs at her ribs like the tide coming in.[fictober day 23]
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: fictober 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949467
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	aethra

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Give me that."
> 
> Direct follow up to Atlas (fictober day 1), taking place almost immediately after.

As she steps into the bedroom, Scully lets out a sigh of relief. 

Even though everything is exactly the same, the familiarity is fond, and not remotely unwelcome. The lamplight is low, but it warms the room to the very corners. 

Or maybe that’s just Mulder, seated on the edge of the bed, tender expression in bas-relief on his weathered, sturdy face. Her feet are carrying her towards him before she realizes that she’s moving.

Standing between his knees, his hands open atop them as if to reach for her, she is indescribably close to tears. 

“You didn’t see the pajamas?” He asks, soft.

“I did. Thank you.”

He’d left a set for her, neatly folded pink satin, on the edge of the bathtub. That had nearly made her cry, too. She carries her emotions too close to the surface, now, has done ever since she’d begun to let him back in.

“Didn’t want to wear them?”

“I wanted to wear this.” 

It’s an old t-shirt of his, hanging midway down her thighs, the same sort of thing that she might wear when she used to spend the night in his apartment all those years ago. The two of them, barely halfway through their thirties and world-weary already, curled up like kittens. Lulled to sleep the moment their heads touched the pillows, even when they’d meant to use the bed for something other than resting.

He lifts one hand, traces the worn fabric at the hem.

“I was going to wash that,” he says, sheepishly. 

The idea of wearing her clothing in their bed again is a shade too close to returning, completely, to how they were before, and she can’t quite shake the apprehension. She will take this one step at a time, for as long as he lets her.

She shrugs. “It smells like you.”

Mulder’s eyes are still wet, and she places his hand on her hip, reaches out to cup his cheek. 

The way that he leans into her touch tugs at her ribs like the tide coming in. She’s left both of them alone for too long, and there are countless uncollected shells, dried out kelp in ringlets, sea glass spread, phalangelic. 

Messages in bottles scattered on the sand, and every single one reading  _ Scully, come home _ .

“Scully,” he says, just a bit like pleading. 

And she shakes her head to hush him, strokes his face with her thumb. Wishes that she was ready, now, to stop fleeing back out the door. She should be the one pleading. 

When she bends to kiss him, he opens his mouth easily, melts on her tongue like salt. 

It’s a long time before she lets them come up for air. After years apart, any reunion is hard to cut short, and there is an instinctive need to explore him at a depth she hasn’t for a very long time. 

The sight of him gasping gently, cheek tucked close against her palm, is enough to make Scully crush their lips together again. 

“So this is why you were so eager to get me in bed,” he jokes, indulgent, when she lets him go. 

Both of his hands are on her hips now, grounding and warm, and he is solid even as he shifts before her. If she wanted him to, she thinks he would reshape himself into absolutely anything, rising and falling, sandcastles and tidepools. The twist to his mouth is forgiving as it always is, even though she’s never deserved it. 

“What can I do for you tonight, little lady?” His tone is still teasing, but it’s clear that he means it.

“Mulder,” she says, pink in the cheeks, and he smiles at her. 

“I’ve still got all of it in me,” he promises, lightly. “Even the more athletic stuff. I’ve got a gym membership and everything.”

“Mulder.”

“I’m listening, honey.”

And she’s the one melting this time, pulling his head to her chest in a haphazard embrace. 

He hasn’t called her that in so long, and it feels like sliding on a coveted robe for the first time in years, like slipping into sun-soaked water. 

Slow but sure, Mulder winds his arms around her waist, holding her close. The intimacy of the contact is so much more than they’ve had in so long, and yet, it’s not nearly enough, not with two layers of clothing between them.

Through the worn cotton of his shirt, he kisses her breastbone. The gesture is affectionate and reassuring, and even though she has no doubt that he still wants her, she knows, with a certainty that makes her eyes well up, that any form of sex they have tonight will be only for her benefit. 

“Mulder,” she murmurs, one more time, and he nods. 

She will give him what he wants, and maybe, in the morning, they’ll use the bed for something other than resting. And if he isn’t up for it, she’ll be just as happy to sleep in, or do anything else that he wants. As long as she can do it while tucked away from the world under his arm. 

After all, he’s still the only one.

“Can you just hold me?”

His rapid inhale is obvious, as is the telltale dampening of the fabric against her skin, and Scully strokes her fingers softly through his hair. If she is carrying her emotions close to the surface, then he is baring his to the world, an S.O.S. carved into wet sand. She can’t pretend, anymore, that she doesn’t see it.

With a shaky breath, he releases her, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes to hide the evidence they both know is there. The smile on his face warms her, right in the center of her chest, and she wants him to warm her everywhere. 

Lifting his legs up onto the bed, he scoots backwards to make room for her. 

After a moment’s consideration, she tugs his shirt up and over her head, clutching it in her fists once it’s off. His eyes swoop to her breasts, but only for a moment, quickly coming back up to meet hers in confusion. 

“I thought…”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head, realizing the sexual connotations of the gesture. “No, I’m not…I just don’t want clothing in the way.”

Realization crosses his face, and she shrugs, a little embarrassed. 

“It’s okay,” she says, about to pull the shirt back on. “We don’t have to –”

“Hey,” he interrupts. “Give me that.”

Wordlessly, she does has he asks, and he tosses it onto the bed behind him. As she watches, he sits upright, pulling off his own shirt and discarding it in the same manner, and then spreads his arms as if to show off his bare chest. 

“Skin on skin is always better,” he tells her, very wisely, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a small grin. “Now, c’mere and let me hold you.”

Clad only in his boxers in the incandescent lamplight, he is at once ruggedly handsome and impossibly endearing. 

The way that she loves him tugs at her steadily, eternally. The shore beckoning to the sea, she thinks, endless and unavoidable from every direction. There’s no denying it, no point in resisting his calling her home, and she’s grown so very tired of trying, even though she’s learned how.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, crossing a forearm over her breasts. “Soon, Mulder, it’s just…”

Shaking his head, he reaches out for her, kind eyes and a soft smile, spanning the gap between them easily and catching her hand in his.

He doesn’t respond to her poor attempt at an apology, doesn’t even acknowledge it. She thinks that he’s already forgiven her.

“Come to bed,” he tells her, instead. And she does. 


End file.
